


In Every Dream Home A Heartache

by thesocraticstare



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Character Study, D/s, M/M, Porn Logic, butt stuff, richard hendricks eats ass on the first date, what is love? two emotionally wounded nerds try to find out for themselves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesocraticstare/pseuds/thesocraticstare
Summary: And every step I takeTakes me further from heavenIs there a heaven?I'd like to think so.Or: Jared has a problem. Richard tries to help.





	In Every Dream Home A Heartache

Jared ran the vacuum over a patch of already-pristine carpet with perhaps more vigor than was absolutely necessary. _Out, darn spot!_ he thought. He had come to find cleaning deeply therapeutic in his adulthood. A pause in his busy life, a chance to reflect, to dwell upon the important things. The cord, wrapped around one of his rarely-used armchairs, snagged for a moment; he yanked on it, inadvertently unplugging the vacuum. The loud whirr died down, and Jared leaned his head on his hand, taking a deep breath to center himself.

Today had been—not great. His smartwatch buzzed; he looked blankly at the incoming email, then carefully unfastened the band and set it down on one of his end tables, freshly dusted. _I guess I should put this on airplane mode,_ he thought, then sat down on the rug, hugged his knees to his chest, and very slowly keeled over to his side, coming to rest in the fetal position.

A hard day. He practiced his breathing exercise a couple of times, but still his head felt separated from his body by a span of, if he had to guesstimate, about three feet. True, he hadn’t been sleeping well recently. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a full five hours of shut-eye.

Things had been a bit strange for… a while now. Actually, it had been about six months: precisely the length of time since he had, with a smile, welcomed Holden Morrissey into the Pied Piper family.

Jared’s duties as COO weren’t precisely new; many of them were tasks he had taken on without being asked, under the unspoken assumption that he would simply manage Richard’s life as quietly and efficiently as possible. But he had to focus on the big picture now. The new internet was really going to happen—not that he had had doubts, exactly, but for a long time there had seemed to be no particular rush to abandon the more hands-on aspects of being Richard’s general factotum-cum-closest confidante-cum-bodyguard-cum-nursemaid. He thought, with a pang, of steaming Richard’s tuxedo, the specific aroma of the mint he had added to the steam. Holden had seemed like the next best thing to being there himself: (seemingly) intelligent, (reluctantly) impressionable, (eventually) devoted to the Pied Piper way of life.

Maybe it was Fiona’s untimely demise that hastened his downfall. Despite Richard’s entirely too generous offer to let Jared return to brewing his cup of tea in the morning, things were still awkward between them, a fact that shamed Jared to his core. If he was unable to perform for his captain, smooth the way for him, what good at all was he, really?

And… he had been a bit hard on Holden. It was essential the boy learn a thing or two about accommodating his CEO’s needs, Jared thought. Otherwise, how would he ever get anywhere in the corporate world? He thought back to their unfortunate interaction that afternoon.

He had been just the tiniest bit on edge. Richard had been in offsite meetings all day, and wasn’t due back to the office until late afternoon. Jared hadn’t had much of an appetite for days, not unusual for high-stress periods; he’d nibbled a Luna bar on his way out the door that morning, forgone lunch, and was now surreptitiously analyzing Richard’s calendar for the rest of the week when he overheard Holden and Danny in the kitchen.

“You could give yourself a break, you know. Richard’s not due back till 4.” Jared glanced up from his screen. Holden was weighed down with an old desktop setup, with Danny leaning over the counter, unaccountably at leisure. Holden shifted from foot to foot.

“Yeah, I know. But… I told him I would get some of this stuff into storage. I might as well just do it now.” Danny shrugged and went back to his cup of organic instant noodle soup.

Almost without conscious intention, Jared slipped away from his desk and after Holden, past the rows of workstations and around the corner to the storage room. Holden juggled the desktop in his arms, opened the door, and switched on the light, sliding the monitor and keyboard onto a shelf. Then he turned around.

“Jesus Chr—I mean—Jared! I didn’t, uh—are you—”

“Holden.” His features were entirely too pale, Jared thought. He might be coming down with something—which was unacceptably irresponsible, given how closely he and Richard worked, and how delicate Richard’s health could be. Jared took a step forward. Holden shrank back a little. “What are you doing?”

“I’m—I’m just—”

“Don’t you think you should have waited until Richard was back? For him to give you direction? You can’t just—just assume you know what’s best. You have to. Know when to manage _up,_ Holden. I want you to succeed—I want _us_ to be successful. PiperNet is _more_ than just a—a beautiful dream—” He smacked his open palm down on the shelf. Holden jumped. “People may say it’s just a fantasy. That there’s no escaping the status quo. That it’s all just—just a rigged game, and the outcome is already determined. Win or lose, the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.” Holden’s eyes had grown wider and wider. He sucked in a wheezing breath.

“Uh, Jared—I’m—this storage room isn’t great for my asthma—”

“Holden… you have to be—better than this. You have to—rise above it. Heaven knows, if I’d succumbed to bodily aches and pains every time I couldn’t breathe in a workplace situation—” He trailed off, briefly losing his train of thought. “You have to push through it. You can’t let your own needs or desires take precedence—”

Holden fumbled for his inhaler. His lips _were_ a little blue, Jared thought, growing a little worried. But this was a lesson he, too, had learned the hard way. He put out one hand.

“I’m telling you this for your own good,” he insisted, even as Holden struggled to raise the inhaler to his lips. He felt tears start to flood his eyes. Holden’s gasps were becoming more labored. “I never wanted to—to—” Holden, with an unexpected burst of strength, shoved him right in the center of his chest, and Jared stumbled backwards, grabbing for the storage shelf behind him. He missed, and went down hard onto his knees.

Suddenly the door opened. “Hey, Jared, do we have any double-A batteries—” Holden dropped his inhaler, his painful wheezing echoing in the room. Richard’s gaze swept across Holden’s hunched and gasping form, over Jared, prostrate on the floor, tears streaking his face.

“Okay. Jared. My office. Now?”

 

* * *

 

“—and I was just _berating_ him, and I don’t know what I was _thinking,_ oh Richard, I feel like a monster, but you weren’t—and it’s so selfish of me to even think this, to even _contemplate_ saying this out loud, but I had no one to talk to, and things had just been building, and I just—I just felt—”

“Okay. I see.” Richard’s voice was tight, clipped. Jared held himself as still as he could, but he felt himself hollowing out with astonishing rapidity, as though his soul were simply draining out through the soles of his feet, through the tasteful beige carpet and out into nothingness. But there was no recourse. He had been found out, his secret exposed: his rotten heart, his shameful, base, craven nature bared to the righteous light of Richard’s scrutiny. Only a coward would shrink from his rightful punishment, so justly deserved; now he could only await Richard’s decision, whether to get rid of him entirely, or destroy him where he stood, strip him of his title and duties as COO—the position he had so vainly paraded! The promotion he had so foolishly thought he merited—make him kneel and beg for contrition, wander the halls of PP until his knees bled—

Richard carried on speaking, but Jared had gotten a little lost in visions of himself tasting the lash he imagined flicking almost pleasurably against his defenseless flesh. He startled back to attention when Richard dashed one hand through the air, an aborted, angry gesture.

“You should have—” Richard cut himself off again. Even in the midst of his chastisement, Jared couldn’t help admiring the animation of Richard’s mobile features, beautiful even in his cold fury. But he startled again when Richard bit out, “You should have come to me. Jared. Why didn’t you talk to me?” His eyes were—angry, yes, but Jared gasped, recognizing all too well the pain of self-recrimination in his burning gaze. He put his hands out, half-stumbling towards his— _friend_ , the greedy voice within him said, but surely he had ruined any chance of that, now.

“Richard, I had to—I didn’t want to—” He wrung his hands together piteously. “I had to keep from— _thrusting_ myself on you, from—from giving in to this—” The hot pinpricks of shameful tears stung at the corners of his eyes. “I just couldn’t—there was so much _depending_ on me…”

Richard stabbed a finger in his direction. “No, Jared. Listen to me—you’ve got to—let me know these things, you know? You can’t just—this isn’t just you, all right? This is, like—it’s _bigger_ than just you now, it’s—” Jared writhed internally.

“ _Listen_ to me, Jared. Look.” Richard drew in a deep, unsteady breath. Jared forced himself to meet his eyes, expecting twin blue flames of righteous anger, but Richard’s gaze was directed at the carpet. He gnawed his lip, and Jared ached to reassure him of his innocence, to once more proclaim his unsullied perfection, undeserved by someone as false-hearted as Jared himself. Then Richard glanced up at him, his expression hardening, and the breath caught in Jared’s throat.

“You’re my responsibility, Jared. I mean—not just the work stuff. That’s important, and obviously, I mean, I wouldn’t do this if I—but we have to talk to HR about some of this stuff.” Despite himself, something in Jared thrilled to hear Richard call them _we._ “But that’s, like… that’s the easy stuff. I’m gonna just tell them you and Holden both need a vacation. Or something. But… you can’t… you can’t fucking shut me out, Jared. You have to—I want to be—you’re, like. You need me, and you didn’t tell me, and you think you’re gonna make it better by ignoring me?” His voice wobbled, and Jared’s knees, almost without conscious command, went weak, dropping him to an abject crouch on the floor. He started to speak, uncertain of the words bubbling up in his throat, but Richard flung out a hand and he fell silent again.

“You need to tell me,” Richard said again, but this time his voice was caressingly gentle, and the tears welled up in Jared’s eyes once more. “Tell me when you need me. I wanna, like… I wanna give you this stuff. I mean. It’s not just making my tea, or whatever—I mean, I want you to do that too, if it’s like, important to you—but uh. You need. _We_ need. To just, like…” He trailed off. Jared’s mind whirled, desperate to make sense of the situation, desperately afraid the killing blow would fall at any moment, despite Richard’s unasked solicitude, this undeserved tenderness. He bowed his head, preparing to accept his fate.

Then, tentative at first, he felt Richard’s hand stroke over his hair, the crown of his head. A shudder ran all down the length of his body.

“I’m gonna give you the choice,” Richard whispered. His hand was still on the back of Jared’s head, and it was like all the whirling uncertainty, the terror and the guilt, were momentarily quieted. “We can go to HR. And you can tell them what’s going on between you and Holden. The surface stuff. And you can take an administrative leave of absence. For as long as you think you need.” Jared shivered, made to nod his acceptance, but the hand on the nape of his neck prevented him moving. “Or. We can. You can go home. And we can work this out—between us. You can let me give you what you need. And I’ll—I’ll—I will. I’ll be there for you. I’ll help you. But you have to choose. What do you want to do?”

 _I want to please you,_ Jared’s mind screamed. _I want you to—_ With all the strength remaining in him, he managed to lift his head, Richard’s hand dropping away as if burned. “I don’t—understand,” he said, voice hoarse with unshed tears, face painfully hot. “Aren’t you—I’ve—Richard, you should be angry—I don’t deserve—”

“You do, though,” Richard interrupted him. “That’s what I fucking _mean,_ Jared. It’s not—you do deserve—but it’s not just about that. This is—it’s _both_ of us, okay? I need—you have to… But it’s your choice. You have to decide. If you want me to help you, I will. But you need to make the choice.” Jared nodded.

 

* * *

 

Jared had never been sent home, in disgrace, from work before. _Pride goeth before the fall,_ he thought, slowly sitting back up on the tastefully carpeted floor of his condo. He stood up, put away the vacuum. On the end table, his smartwatch buzzed, disregarded; it wasn’t until the doorbell rang that Jared realized Richard was already here.

He rushed to open the door. Richard stood there diffidently, chewing at the corner of his lip. “Can I come in?” he asked. Jared stood aside to usher him inside, but once in the middle of the living room, they both stopped, uncomfortably avoiding eye contact.

Jared held his hands protectively to his chest, trying to gather his thoughts. “Richard. I… I want you to know I think this is just—incredibly generous of you. If you—if you just fired me right now, you would be well within your rights.” He drew in a breath. “The thing is, I… I just don’t deserve your—your kindness. I’m—I’ve been—”

He had been trying not to cry, not to reinsert his pitiful emotions into this apology, but when Richard laid his hand on his arm, he felt the tears welling up, beyond his control. “I don’t—”

“Jared. Stop.” Richard’s voice was strained. “Stop. We—we already agreed. You need to—listen. I know this is going to sound weird. But I’ve been thinking, and—I, uh—” He broke off, blushing furiously.

“You need to get fucked,” he said. Impossible, but true.

“You—that’s what I’m. I—I know I’m like—I’m… actually, absolutely terrible at this. Like, measured objectively. So, sorry in advance? But, uh. Jared. I know you need it. And I need you to be okay. So you have to just—just tell me. Tell me what you want, and I’ll. I’m gonna, like.” Richard was really saying these words, Jared reflected to himself. This was really happening to him. This was real. His real Richard.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Richard said, his voice going a little high-pitched. Jared gasped in incredible, indescribable relief. He sagged against the wall, knocking his Goya print crooked. In two steps, Richard came up to him and gently took hold of his wrists in both hands. Jared felt his eyes slip closed.

“Oh, lord,” he said.

“Um,” Richard said. “Or… I mean…” Jared felt him start to pull away. The frightened question in his voice was intolerable; Jared’s eyes snapped back open.

“Oh, Richard, please—oh god. Oh please. Oh god, please—” Richard let out a huge breath, his hands tightening around Jared’s wrists again.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you want. I’m gonna—I know you wanna, like. I know you need it so bad.” A thousand thoughts came to Jared’s mind all at once.

“Tell me you can do anything you want to me. That you own me. Tell me I belong to you.” Richard’s eyes were wide at the beginning of this little speech; by the end be looked utterly gobsmacked. He swallowed, audibly.

“Okay. I. Um. Okay.” Richard’s hands still encircled his wrists like soft manacles. He took another determined breath, looked like he was mustering all his confidence through sheer force of will. The expression of _I can do this_ was plain to read on his pale face. Jared felt as though it might be impossible to love anyone more than he loved Richard in this moment. He stayed still, awaiting whatever would befall him.

Richard’s hands tightened, just barely, on his wrists. “I’m. You're—you're mine. You're mine—not anybody else's—”

It was impossible to remain silent, not when Richard's fingers were quivering so gently over the knobs of his wristbones. He gasped, as quietly as possible, felt himself swaying slightly closer to the heat of Richard's body. When nothing else was forthcoming, he flickered his eyes up to Richard's, beseeching him. “Yes,” he whispered.

Richard's hands glided slowly—so slowly—up his bare arms, to the bottom of his polo shirt sleeves. His eyes were fixed on Jared's face—not meeting his eyes, exactly, but as though he wanted to memorize Jared's face, his rapt expression. “I own you,” he said. Jared couldn't stop his impassioned nod. “Every part of you,” Richard added, voice slipping to a harsh whisper.

“Yes! Oh, Richard—”

“Every part of you belongs to me. And—and I can. Touch every. Every single part of you. Your body.” Richard's face was gradually suffusing with blood, his eyes still locked on Jared's face. Jared felt close to delirious. His mouth fell open, no sound emerging, when Richard wriggled his hand down past the waistband of Jared’s khakis and into his underwear.

“Fuck! I'm gonna make you feel so—fucking good. Is this mine? Is it? Fucking… tell me, Jared.”

For a moment Jared was certain he would be unable to respond. His throat worked fruitlessly until he managed to croak, “Ye-es—oh—”

But before he could gasp out anything more Richard's hand was back on him, stroking him firmly, purposefully. Making him feel so gosh-darn good. His head tipped back against the wall with a soft thud, a moan bubbling up in his throat.

“That's right,” Richard was whispering. “You love this. Don't you? You fucking love my hands on you.”

“Yes! I—oh, oh—”

“This is mine now. Your dick is all mine.” Richard's face split into a smile that was almost really a grimace, lips pulled back from his teeth. Jared  swooned a little, half-desperate to feel those little fangs digging into his skin. “I’m gonna... make you—make you come for me. Now that I know. Now that you're—oh fuck, Jared—”

Richard drew his hand back for a moment to wipe a drop of sweat off his forehead; before he could stop himself, Jared reached out and grabbed it, licked the sweat from it. Richard watched him avariciously, letting him do it, staring. Then he turned his hand in Jared's grasp, pulling back just enough to thrust two fingers deep into his mouth. Jared moaned around them.

“Fuck. Look at you. You want this in your mouth?” Richard pressed his fingers in slowly, deeper, crowding in a third. Jared felt the stabbing pleasure of shame, sure he was about to start drooling around them. His eyes closed of their own volition. “You want to suck while I'm… while I jerk you off?” His left hand slipped down to Jared's groin, taking hold a little awkwardly. _Oh, bless him,_ Jared thought, seconds before his brain shorted out again and all he could do was give himself over.

Richard pulled his right hand free of Jared's mouth, fingers slipping out with an obscene, wet sound that thrilled Jared to his core. _So shameful,_ he thought, as Richard's wet fingers stroked his cheek, drawing a damp trail of saliva from his panting lips to the corner of his jaw.

“Turn around,” Richard whispered. His voice was rough, a little hoarse, and Jared shuddered. Without waiting for him to move, Richard turned him, both hands on his sharp hipbones. Then he took firm hold of Jared's right wrist, bending his arm up behind his back. Jared leaned his head against the cool wall, eyes slipping shut. _Please,_ he thought, started to say aloud.

“I’m gonna eat you out. I’m gonna—m… make you sit on my face.” Jared gasped, jerking back from the wall. He had perhaps expected… well. Not that. He pulled reflexively against Richard's hold on his wrist, but it only tightened, thrillingly.

He felt Richard lowering himself to a crouch. _Oh lord,_ he thought. Richard's free hand yanked down on Jared’s already-loosened pants, forcing his underwear down with them and stroking over his flank, his backside on the way. “Oh fuck, Jared,” Richard muttered. Jared's mind flashed to the neat stack of Fleet bottles in his bathroom cabinet. He felt immediately, inexpressibly filthy.

“Oh gosh. Oh Richard. You don't… I haven't—it's not—”

Richard didn't let him finish. “You said,” he began, that familiar mulish quality in his voice. “Is this mine?”

“Yes, but oh, Richard…”

“Then I don't care. You think this is… too dirty? Too nasty for you?” Jared moaned helplessly. “Every single part of you, Jared. I fucking. I mean it.” Richard was still holding him pinned by one wrist, stroking his behind with the other hand. The touch firmed, Richard grabbing him a little roughly. _Oh god._

“This is mine,” Richard was whispering. “Your little. Fuck. Your little ass. I _own_ it. I'm gonna fucking eat it. I'm gonna—you're gonna be fucking dripping when I'm done with you. I'm gonna make you ride my face.” Jared sobbed, pressed his burning face against the wall. He felt Richard take a firmer hold, pull him open with one hand, the air of his bedroom cool on his hole.

Richard's mouth was a brand upon him, coaxing short, sharp cries out of him. “Right here,” Richard whispered, his breath soft—so close to—right over—

The feel of Richard’s tongue on his asshole made him cringe even as he arched back into the touch, so blissfully ashamed and so aroused he felt he might combust. Richard was breathing heavily just behind him, on his knees, caressing him— _licking_ him—there—

“I’m gonna make you ride my mouth until you come. Eat your slutty little hole. You want this so bad. You needed to come so—so goddamn bad, Jared, I need you to tell me how you—how you want it, when you want me—I want to give you everything you need. Give it to you so fucking hard, just like you've been begging for. This whole time. You’re going to—I’m gonna make sure you know who you belong to.” Richard punctuated these vows with long, tender strokes of his tongue, running it over the fluttering muscle, down Jared's smooth perineum. Jared arched his back, pressing back into it, spreading his legs wider for it, shamelessly opening himself for it. Every exhalation was a cry.

Richard let go of his wrist, brought his hand around, fumbling a little, to take hold of Jared's aching erection. Jared rocked his hips between twin sources of pleasure—Richard's hand, squeezing and pulling at him, and his mouth, leaving him so wet, so open. He could barely think, other than to wonder, half-crazed, _Gosh. Whatever did I do to deserve this._

Richard's pace was increasing, his breath gusting over Jared's agonizingly sensitized skin. Jared's hips moved faster—he twisted his head back, just able to catch Richard's titian curls as he set himself to his task. To think that he had finally gotten that brilliant focus, that dogged attention, on himself, his pleasure—

“Ohh—ahhhh—” Jared's mindless cries echoed in his own ears, taunting him with his own eagerness, his own sluttish readiness for anything Richard deigned to grant him. He flushed, imagining how he must sound to Richard—but Richard too was moaning, the vibrations of his groans bringing Jared even higher, higher—

Richard's hand twisted over his erection, pumping him; he felt a slow trickle of Richard's saliva down his inner thigh; he clamped his own hand over his mouth, trying to contain his shouts, but Richard reached up, dragged it down, gripping his wrist just like he had earlier. Jared pressed his forehead against the wall, tensing up all over—

“Oh, god—oh, Richard—oh, oh—”

A moment later, as he slumped forward, knees trembling, bracing himself with one hand, he spared a brief thought for the cleanliness of his pristine carpeting, to say nothing of the section of wall he was sure had gotten—well, splattered. But then Richard's arms were coming around him from behind, and Richard's heavy breaths were in his ear, making him shiver.

“Every part of you,” Richard was murmuring, and Jared nodded frantically, eyes tightly shut. “All of you. You're all mine now. I have you.”

 

* * *

 

They stayed like that on the carpet for a long moment. But as the haze of pleasure dissipated, Jared felt his anguish returning full-force. As soon as he felt able to move again, he twisted around in the loose clasp of Richard’s arms. Richard was gnawing at his lip, keeping his gaze fixed on the untidy pile of Jared’s hastily-discarded khakis.

“Ri—” Jared began. His voice squeaked in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Richard blurted. “Uh. I’m, um. Sorry.”

“What—no, no— _Richard._ I—sorry for—?”

“Maybe that was—like, too much?” Richard finally looked up at him. His face was bright red. “I’ve—never—like. In real life. I, uh, I’ve watched kind of a lot of—porn? But like. I’m. Sorry I called you a slut, I was just—”

“No, no—gosh. Richard. That was…” Jared tried to find an adjective that adequately described what had just happened, then gave it up as a bad job. “You’re…”

Richard put one hand on the wall for support and stood up, his knees cracking. Jared winced in sympathy. “Jared. We need to, um. You—I know I said some dumb stuff,” he continued, sounding almost angry. “Like, obviously I don’t—own—” He reddened even further. “But. I’m gonna. You need to—take better care of yourself. I want you to take a couple weeks off—”

“A couple of _weeks_? But—there’s so much—”

“Okay, just one week. Okay? You’ve been under too much stress. It’s not good for you. You have to—you have to let me help you.”

Jared was still on the floor, saliva drying on his inner thigh, naked from the waist down. _What a day,_ he thought. He felt not just at sea, but completely unsure of where his captain wanted to steer this conversation. He had half-expected Richard to unzip his jeans, order him to perform some sort of reciprocal act: anything more than just accepting the unforeseen generosity of Richard’s mouth on his body. He flushed again just remembering. But it was obvious that Richard was already preparing to leave.

“Listen. Jared. I want you to take the rest of this week off. A, like, mental health vacation. And—and I want to help you—uh. Unwind. So, just… Let’s just talk about it tomorrow. Okay?”

As though it was nothing more than a casual break from work. As though Richard hadn’t just offered him, with no strings attached, the paradise his heart had yearned for for so long, to say nothing of his traitorous body. Richard stepped over his crumpled khakis, then turned to look back at him once more. “Okay?” he prompted again.

“But. Richard. I don’t—understand.” Jared tried to keep from pleading. “Why you would—could possibly—”

“I need you to be okay, Jared. And… if this is what you need… I’m gonna do it.” For a moment, that determined light shone in Richard’s eyes again, and Jared’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. Then he wiped his palms a little awkwardly on his jeans, pulled out his phone to order a car, and stepped to the door. “We’ll talk later.” He opened it, and was gone.

  

* * *

 

Jared still awoke the next morning at his regular time, 4:30 am on the dot, a habit he had acquired well before coming to work for Pied Piper and even predating his Hooli days. With his email notifications turned off, though, he felt immediately at a loss for how to make use of the morning. He tried his usual routine, checking Bloomberg for the early headlines and brewing himself a cup of decaffeinated English breakfast tea, but he soon found himself gazing at the lines of text without reading them.

He did some simple stretches, feeling the habitual ache in his spine that worsened with his anxious stoop and long days bent over a screen or two. He watered his plants, touching their leaves gently as he tended each one. He had read somewhere that houseplants were best primed to absorb nutrients before dawn. One of the newest was a gift from Gloria’s great-granddaughter, an aloe that had been among the many plants and flowers left behind at the funeral home. He'd always had a soft spot for the cast-asides, for the picked-over and forgotten.

He tried strenuously not to think about the office, or about Richard, or about what Richard was doing or thinking or saying, or about Richard’s miraculous, unanticipated mouth on his body. He almost succeeded.

He had taken a long, hot shower after Richard left last night, but he treated himself to a long, hot bath anyway, trying not to feel guilty about the waste of potable water. He contemplated and then discarded the idea of a bath bomb. Cleanliness was a virtue: this had been drilled into him, all too literally, but it helped mitigate the guilt of pampering himself, to imagine it as a kind of higher good. But, as he prepped his arsenal of grooming tools, trimming and buffing and waxing and exfoliating, he knew with a hot dark pulse of excitement and shame that there was no virtue in what he was doing, primping his insatiable flesh as though this would cement the reality of Richard promising him he could have more of his body and his time.

He tried to avoid thinking about Richard while he dried his hair, while he tidied up the bathroom, while he extended the tidying to the kitchen even though he had scoured it clean just the day before. _Richard,_ he thought miserably. _I’ve been so selfish. Making him think he’s responsible for my—needs. And how is he managing at the office today, without me there—_ Then he berated himself for thinking about Richard despite his firm mental injunction and for imagining that Richard would, could need him, would be lost without him…

Just when his options for distraction had begun to run out, he heard his phone buzz in the other room. He looked down at his watch, trying to ignore his heart leaping in his chest.

 _hey jared,_ Richard’s text said. _sorry for not staying longer yesterday._ Below this message, three dots appeared, then vanished. Jared waited, heart still pounding. The dots reappeared.

 _i’ve been thinking about you,_ the second message said. Jared expelled a shaky breath. Another message quickly appeared. _us_

Jared waited.

 _i meant what i said yesterday,_ Richard sent. _i want to help you relax._ Jared stood stock-still in his living room, eyes filling with tears, a thousand rationales for turning down this unreasonable generosity springing to mind simultaneously. But Richard sent another text before he could respond.

 _i’ve been reading some things online._ There was another long pause. Jared was confused, unsure if this was a signal for them to get back to business; some things online, about Pied Piper? His management strategies? BackPage.com reviews of a strangely familiar tall hustler?

 _about power exchange,_ Richard finally sent. Jared’s hand flew to his heart. _i think it could be helpful. for us._

 _i don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. maybe you could think about it._ Then, _i’m picking up some takeout for dinner, lmk if 8 pm is ok. see you later._

Jared inhaled deeply, exhaled. He felt—perhaps it was too soon to say with precision what, exactly, he felt. But certainly, that morning he had assumed the Sword of Damocles was hanging over his head, poised and ready to destroy this comfortable life he had scrabbled together for himself. Now, though the world still felt precarious, his tremulous heart split the difference between eagerness and anxiety. This was survivable. He blessed Richard’s presence of mind, not for the first time.

 _I’ll write us up a simple agreement,_ he wrote. _8 pm is great!_ He debated for a moment. To heck with it: his elation couldn’t be contained.  _:^)_

He hit send.

 

* * *

 

Richard arrived a little past eight, laden with evident nerves and plastic bags from Jared’s favorite local Burmese restaurant. “You wanna eat first, or…?”

“Please, put those down wherever. And make yourself comfortable—would you like some sun tea? Freshly brewed…” Jared felt his own mingled excitement and anxiety rising. He took the two neatly paper-clipped documents from his desk in the corner.

“I printed you a copy, for your records.” Richard accepted his printout wordlessly. “Do you want to look it over before we...?”

“Maybe just like, read me the pertinent parts?”

“All right.” Jared took a deep breath. “If you find it—agreeable, I give you command over my person for the next four days. Oh, to be fair, I counted yesterday as the first, so technically, five days total.” Richard nodded silently.

“I have to be ready for you at all times. I have to keep myself clean and prepared, for anything you want, at any time. I have to depilate all body hair—”

“Um, okay,” Richard broke in. “You, uh. Don’t have to do that part.” His mouth worked silently for a moment. “I mean, it’s not, like. A requirement.”

“Well, if you say so…” It took Jared a moment to find his place again. “So, this covers any sex act you might propose, with the exception of those permanently disfiguring or legally banned in the state of California—”

“Disfiguring—”

“Oh, that’s mostly just a legal workaround—we could discuss in finer detail if you want to consider piercings  or things of that nature—”

“What? No. Jared—look.” Richard rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I’m not—look, I’m not going to, like, hurt you. Okay? I’m not—I don’t want to do anything that’s gonna cause you irreparable harm, or even like, reparable harm. This whole thing is, like… I want you to de-stress. That’s the whole point, okay? Tell me you understand that.”

Jared’s shoulders sagged with mingled relief and regret. “Understood,” he said. “Richard, are you sure you want to… put yourself through this? I’m—I’m moved by your concern, of course… but… I feel that I’m taking advantage of your generosity. There’s no reason for you to go to such extremes.”

Richard sighed, then laughed. “Extremes,” he said. “Like—like eating you out last night?”

Jared flushed. “Exactly.”

“Listen, I know I’m not—experienced. The way you are.” Richard broke off. He seemed unsure of how to continue. “But I… I want to be there for you. For a change. Like, it can’t be just you killing yourself at the office every day, weekends included, and me never—showing you I… I know why you’re doing it, all right? It’s not—unappreciated.” Jared had no response to this. He felt too many large, uncertain emotions welling up inside himself.

Richard was quiet for a moment. “What else is in this thing?” he finally asked, gesturing to his copy of the agreement.

“That’s about it, really. But, again, Richard, we don’t have to—”

“I wanna add some stuff,” Richard interrupted. His voice was almost angry. His eyes blazed. “Some stipulations.”

“Please,” Jared whispered.  

“Okay. All right.” Richard crossed and uncrossed his arms. “Okay. On all of these four days we’ve got left, I want you to… do something nice for yourself. Like, I don’t know. When was the last time you went to your baking class? Or that, like. Knit and kvetch thing.”

“Stitch and bitch,” Jared supplied.

“Yeah, right. Do one of those. Or like… go antiquing or something. Then after I get back from the office we can, like. Have dinner and. You know.” He made a complicated gesture, its meaning obscure but certainly obscene. Jared swallowed hard. “If that’s… you know, if you’re in the mood. What’s—is that okay?” He looked at Jared a little pleadingly, as if he were striking some kind of hard bargain instead of offering Jared precisely what he had always dreamed of.

“That’s… yes,” Jared managed. “I accept.”

Richard nodded. “Okay. Me too. We don’t… we don’t have to sign anything, right?”

“We could shake on it.” They did. Jared waited for a beat, half-certain he’d either be struck down by a bolt from the blue or burst out singing, one or the other. But the moment passed, leaving him gazing at Richard, who toyed nervously with the drawstrings of his hoodie.

“Um. Do you want to eat first? Or, like… I mean…” Richard’s face was a little pink. _Gosh, he’s so handsome,_ Jared couldn’t help thinking.

“Are you hungry?” Richard nodded, then shook his head.

“I think… let’s… um. Maybe. Dinner afterwards.” His eyes scanned Jared’s face avidly. “Maybe, uh. Would you… you wanna… go in your bedroom?”

Jared nodded, feeling sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. “Whatever you want,” he whispered.

Once there, however, laid out on his bed, Jared’s anxiety clawed its way back to the surface of his thoughts. Richard knelt tentatively by his side, still wearing his jeans and hoodie. As an adult, Jared had come to appreciate some of the benefits that came with his height: being able to fetch a snack down from a shelf too high for one of his more average-sized coworkers, for example. But he still felt irredeemably gawky lying down full-length, especially with someone regarding him this way, consideringly, as if weighing the pros and cons before making a purchase.

He jumped when Richard reached out and gently placed his hand on his arm. “Jared,” Richard whispered. “Are you… We don’t, um…” Jared looked up at Richard’s worried face, still a little flushed. Richard ducked his head, petting Jared’s arm through his shirt sleeve, charmingly nervous. Jared took a deep breath.

“It’s all right,” he said, then was unsure which of them he was trying to soothe. “Just… Richard. Tell me what you want me to do, please.”

Richard smiled down at him. Jared’s heart raced. “Um. Take your—take your clothes off. Please.”

He had to sit up to strip his shirt off, and wriggle quite a bit to get his pants and underwear down, but when he was settled again he blushed at Richard’s frankly ravenous stare. “Your… legs,” Richard managed. “Wow.” Jared demurred, flattered and a little embarrassed. “And, like.” Richard made a kind of all-encompassing gesture. “Can I, um…”

“Yes, please. Anything.” It was hard, hard not to be ashamed of how much he wanted, always, how desperate he was for Richard’s touch; when Richard leaned over him again, stroking the soft skin of his inner arm with just one finger, he sucked in a breath, his nerve endings flashing with pleasure all up and down his body. Richard looked back up at him, clearly sensing the power coursing between them.

“You… like that?” Richard asked, voice already husky. Jared swallowed, nodded his head. Richard’s eyes returned to follow the path his hand drew, slowly, gently, up Jared’s inner arm and down his side.

Then he paused. “Jared,” he said. “I want—I want you to tell me what kind of stuff you like. I want to make sure I’m… doing it right. I wanna make this good for you. All right?”

It was easier, in many ways, to give himself over to the pleasure of another rather than focus on his own. But last night, when Richard had… ravished him, it had been, astonishingly, in service of _Jared’s_ fulfillment, had chased his mingled pleasure and abasement to the sweetest conclusion...

He reached down with one hand and captured Richard’s. “I…” he tried. “I’d like…” Richard squeezed his hand. He closed his eyes. “Oh, Richard. I’d—I’d like you to… Open me up, please. I—I want you to use me, please. Inside me.” He felt the burn of humiliation at saying these words, at admitting his desires, and had the impulse to apologize, try to take them back. But when he opened his eyes, Richard’s gaze nearly made him gasp aloud.

“Yeah,” Richard whispered. “I knew it. I knew you needed it. You need to get fucked.” Jared nodded desperately. His knees fell a little further apart. Richard let go of his hand, putting both of his on Jared’s thighs and spreading them to his satisfaction. Then he sat back, gaze riveted to this wanton tableau.

“Your skin is so soft,” Richard said, petting up and down Jared’s spread thighs. Jared’s head lolled on the pillow. “You’re so… I’m gonna. Open you up, just like you want. Just… here?” And the word edged up into a question, but there was no doubt about the truth of Richard’s assertion: the moment he placed his dry fingertip on the tender whorl of Jared’s asshole, his back arched, his eyes watered, and a mewling cry rose in his throat. “Yeah,” Richard said again, that erotic mix of determination and satisfaction darkening his voice, and Jared sobbed aloud. “Do you have any…?”

He reached out blindly to the drawer of his bedside table, pulling out a bottle of water-based lubricant as he flushed with shame at his own eagerness. But when he looked up at Richard again, he saw no sign of censure.

“You might not need quite that much,” he offered, when Richard had already poured out a palmful of lubricant. But the first finger slipped in so gently, so easily, he arched his back on the mattress, a keening exhale caught between his teeth.

“Fuck, you needed this so bad. You’ve been so good. Waited so long,” Richard said, and his voice was so gentle, not an ounce of condescension, as though it were really true—Jared sobbed, legs jerking though he tried to stay perfectly still. “So good,” Richard repeated, slick fingers stroking their way inside Jared’s greedy hole, the pleasure so sweet and consuming he felt certain he wouldn’t be able to stand much more.

“Richard, Richard, please…” he begged, uncaring of his own shameful desperation, so full and still so needy he wanted to hide his face and cry.

“That’s right,” Richard murmured, fingers still working slowly in and out of his body. Jared’s legs shook, one thigh pressed against Richard’s torso—his chest so hot even through his t-shirt—with his knee crooked over Richard’s shoulder. Jared felt his own spine arching, a kind of agonized yawp emerging from his own mouth, with no conscious decision on his part; his hips pushed back against Richard’s fingers, penetrating him more deeply now, Richard bracing his elbow on the bed for better leverage, his own breaths coming in harsh little pants through his nose; he tilted his hand, just a little, and on the next inward thrust his fingers brushed Jared’s prostate. Jared’s back arched again, off the bed entirely this time, heels digging into Richard’s shoulder and the mattress; for a moment all was blissful pleasure, then he was aware once more of his impossible, unwieldy body, frantic to apologize, unworthy of accepting Richard’s long, lovely, nervous hands on him, inside him.

Then Richard was, _mirabile dictu_ , praising him again—telling him how good he was being, how perfect; voice low, eyes unwavering from where they were fixed on Jared’s face. Jared sobbed again, long and loud, feeling his orgasm descending—but, just as Richard’s perfect fingers plunged inside him again, again, building in speed, he was suddenly afraid, terrified he had gone too long, that after all of this solicitude and care he would be unable to come after all. Hot tears welled in his eyes.

“Please, please,” he begged, turning his head against the pillow. “Richard, oh please, please—”

“Tell me. C’mon, baby. Tell me what you need.” Richard hadn’t stopped fingering him, was leaning over his arm, working his hand in and out, three fingers now. “Tell me, Jared. Say it.” His voice was commanding and still somehow imploring. He sounded breathless.

Jared made a massive effort to pull himself together, but then Richard swore softly, pressing three fingers against his hole, pushing them in and crooking them a little, and Jared’s vision whited out, the only words left to him Richard’s name and _please._

“Tell me,” Richard said again, without stopping. “ _Say_ it, Jared. I know. You gotta—you just gotta say it…”

“ _Richard…_ ”

“I know, baby. Say it.” Jared was desperate for release. His erection bobbed against his stomach, an angry red, and Jared squeezed his eyes shut so not to see it. His mouth opened on a gasp, lips moving without sound. “Say it,” Richard insisted, and Jared felt a hot tear slip out from his squeezed-shut eyes.

“Richard—I need—I love you,” he said, soundlessly, whole body on fire.

“That’s it,” Richard was telling him, “that’s it, that’s it, that’s right, say it. Tell me, Jared. Say it.” He took hold of Jared’s erection, not really stroking it but just holding him, closing his unbearably hot palm around the length of it, and that really was it, that was the end of it. Jared wailed, helplessly trying to thrust into Richard’s hand and onto his fingers, penetrated and cosseted and accepted, and it was all too much, it was perfect.

“I love you, oh lord, oh Richard, I love you, I love you,” he sobbed, “Oh—oh god, oh god—I love—Richard—” And he was coming, finally, and the incredible relief of it, the pleasure, the release of pressure so deep inside, made his head swim, his vision going black at the edges, his limbs tingling, whole body shaking, coming hard over Richard’s hand and onto his own stomach.

“Hey,” Richard whispered a moment later. “Jared? You, um. You okay?” He lifted his head very slowly from the pillow, eyes refusing to focus for a long moment. His stomach was wet; his extremities felt a little fizzy. But: okay, yes. He was okay. He nodded, not trusting his voice. _I love you,_ he thought helplessly.

“Okay. Okay, good. Uh, hold on a second, I’ll—um…” Richard was already scrambling off the bed, half-backing out the bedroom door. Jared closed his eyes again, concentrated on his breathing, trying to to think, trying not to wonder if Richard were leaving the condo for good this time. But all he heard was the bathroom door closing and the sound of running water. He let himself drift.

His eyes flew open when he felt the bed dip. “Oh! Sorry,” Richard said. “Were you—you looked like you were asleep. Sorry. I, um. I brought you a towel.”

Jared rolled slowly onto his side. Richard was kneeling on the bed; he had stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers, a soft flush across his sharp, beautiful features. He was holding a soaking hand towel, which dripped a little onto the mattress. Jared’s heart swelled, somehow, at the idea of Richard searching out a clean towel even though he had a perfectly good washcloth hanging neatly by his shower caddy. “Thank you,” he said.

Richard touched the wet edge of the towel to Jared’s skin, and they both flinched a little, a muscle in Jared’s stomach jumping at the sensation. Then he surprised them both with a laugh. “You know…” he started. “Actually, I have some wet wipes right next to the bed.”

Richard wiped diligently at Jared’s stomach, not lifting his eyes from the task. “For next time,” he said, and Jared’s penis twitched. Neither felt the need to comment.

“Is it, um. Can I stay here tonight?” Richard’s words came out in a rush. Jared’s hand unconsciously floated up to his heart: _goodness._

“Of course,” he said, simply. Richard nodded, eyes on the rumpled sheets, a blush slowly reddening his ears. Then he lay down next to Jared, exhaled once, and held open his arms.

 

* * *

 

“...Jared. Can I ask you something?” Jared came back to full consciousness with a little start. He had been drifting on the astonishing peace washing over him with his ear pressed against Richard’s breastbone. Now he belatedly registered the question and nodded, nose brushing Richard’s chest.

Richard took a moment before he spoke. “Do you… do you ever miss Erlich?” His voice was quiet and almost toneless.

“I…” Jared drew back a little. If he were honest, the repeated loss of authority figures, friends, and family had been one of few constants in his life. Best accepted, processed, and dealt with. Tucked away. The tears budget was already stretched thin; there were few to spare, once the crisis had passed. The rest was just… managing to live.

“I’ve... tried not to think about it,” he said, carefully. “And he wouldn’t be the first person I’ve known to have a death in absentia nullified… But it is a terrible loss. He was such a—presence,” he went on, letting old emotions resurface. He touched the soft cloth of Richard’s t-shirt, glancing up surreptitiously at Richard’s face, but his eyes were trained on the ceiling. “And you and he were… close. He was all bluster, but he cared for you.” Richard inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping down to look at Jared. He had to look away, cheeks flushing, still toying with Richard’s shirt. But when he spoke, Richard’s voice was soft.

“I feel like—I should have done more. To bring him—home.” Richard’s hand clenched on Jared’s shoulder. He wanted, in the usual reflexive way, to deny Richard had any reason to feel guilty: _No, no, my captain, you couldn’t have done more than your duty—_ but his eyes were still blazing, that frighteningly exciting blue electric flame, belied by the softness of his voice and the tender proximity of his body, so thinly clad. Jared was abruptly aware of his own nudity, his body’s so recently satisfied cupidity.

“I owed him,” Richard said simply. “I should have—done whatever I could. He was fucked up, you know? I don’t just mean the whole opium den in Tibet thing. I wish I could’ve—turned him around, I don’t know.” The whole time he was speaking, Richard’s hand flexed and tightened on Jared’s shoulder, holding him close.

“I wish he could see what you’ve done with Pied Piper,” Jared said. “Your success.”

“Not just mine,” Richard said. His hand tightened on Jared’s shoulder again. “We… it was just like I knew it would be. The tech is good. And—the team. You’re… I wish he could see the company now.”

They both fell quiet. “You know,” Richard said suddenly, “this, uh. Vacation.” Jared glanced up at him, but Richard kept his eyes on the ceiling. “I think it’s. A good thing. ...I missed you, though. I mean, I guess that’s a little weird… but I missed you today at the office.” Richard petted Jared’s hair thoughtfully, clearly ruminating on what to say next. Jared stayed quiet, Richard’s soft voice and gentle hand running through his hair lulling him into an almost-dreamlike state.


End file.
